Elliot Alderson Story Prompts
by Writing.Ragdoll
Summary: Fan Fiction based on a list of prompts revolving the life of Elliot Alderson x OC. Will Mr. Robots plans for world freedom take an unexpected turn when he finds a powerful weapon at the reach of his fingertips?
1. Outside the Window

**[1]**

It was a rare instance when something outside of his computer screen caught Elliot Alderson's attention. However, today was different.  
Perhaps it was the shouting that caught his attention. Maybe it was the loud rain that coated New York City during the spring days.

"Stop following me! No is no!" A woman shouted in an irked tone.  
She stomped towards the coffee shop as a male followed after her.  
"Babe come on! _Cara Mia_!" He said in a petty attempt to imitate Gomes Adams when reaching for her hand. Elliot's large eyes remained focused on the scene outside the window from the inside of the warm, dry coffee shop.  
"Enough!" She snapped tugging her arm back to her body. The rain continued pouring around the couple.  
"Please!" she pleaded. "Just leave me alone..."  
Elliot couldn't see her face, as her back remained facing him. But he could see the expression of defeat in the man's face as he turned away and left.

She entered the shop closing her baby blue umbrella. Her head lowered and her lips drawn upon a serious line. Her hair was a pretty orange color, and it frizzed at the ends due to the terrible weather. With her shoulder's hunched and head lowered she didn't catch the attention of many inside of the small business place. Her face remained invisible to him. She approached the counter and sucked in a deep breath.

"Hi! Good afternoon!" She chirped in a joyful tone as her emotions rapidly shifting.  
"How are you today-" she rolled her weight forward leaning over the counter reading the baristas name "-Mallory." She said with a bright smile.  
Mallory simply returned the greeting with a more than annoyed expression. The dark bags under her eyes became more prominent with her foul mood. The stranger seemed immune to the bored glare and remained eager for her- "Chai Latte, please."  
"Coming right up." She retorted in a draining sigh. The barista charged her.  
"Wait-! You forgot my name, my name is Bo." She offered kindly.  
"Good for you." The other retorted rolling her eyes.

Elliot looked at her this is when she gave up, it had to be. Nobody could remain that optimistic after facing Mallory the barista's menacing death glare. To his surprise she pulled out a five from her purse and tipped it in her jar.

He brought his knuckles to his lips. Now he was intrigued.


	2. The Unrequited Love Poem

**[2]**

It had been a week.

This was the second time that he found himself sitting in Ron's coffee shop. This one was the one with the stupidly quick Wi-Fi. Fiber connection with gigabit speed? It was suspiciously odd for a simple coffee shop.

He kept an eye out for her. It was Sunday in the afternoon. She was bound to come strolling in one moment or the other. He had to hack her, he had to at least know her name. He had tried getting it out of the Sunday barista Mallory. She looked like a bulldog with a stink eye and only glared apathetically at Elliot when he asked for her name.

"Can you give her this? From me?" He slid a note across the counter.

Mallory simply rolled her eyes and walked away from the cash register. Elliot cringed. There it was again, the invisible hand at action...  
Clenching his fist he was force to throw in a couple of dollars into her tip bucket. With a change of heart Mallory took the small note in her hand and shoved it into her pocket.

Elliot returned to his seat he proceeded to do more coding, more investigating into why this particular Ron's coffee had a rare fiber connection. This time he didn't even realize when she walked in.

"For me?" She said in her usual blissful tone as she took the note from annoyed barista. "Wow! Thank you so much Mallory." She said taking her chai latte in one hand and the note in the other.

 _'Roses are Red  
Violets are Blue  
Maybe I can share  
my next latte with you.'_

He saw her eyes become slightly wider. Her perfectly manicured hand touched her chest dramatically. "Aww!" She coed touched.  
"Mallory who gave you this?" She turned curiously.

Without much concern or care the barista simply nodded her head towards him.

It had been a simple poem. He hadn't put much thought into it. Just something to charm her enough to approach him. He saw her green eyes meet his. Her cheeks flushed pink with excitement as she pursue her lips in a flirtatious matter. He felt something twist inside of him. A woman like her had never looked at him like that. Not that many women looked at him to begin with. He saw her elegant designer salmon summer colored dress, bright eyes, expensive jewelry and pristine smile. She approached him he looked at her with his shocked eyes. He was begging to feel his anxiety build up. He rehearsed the words he would say to her-

He opened his mouth, but instead she walked past his table to the one next to his. He sat shocked and fought the urge to slap his forehead in frustration. He cocked his head to the side conspicuously and saw that instead she had approached a suit sitting behind him. He had a beaked nose, wore intellectual glasses and was reading the Wall Street Journal. A banker or investor obviously. Capitalist pig.

"Hi," she began shyly. "I really like your note, I think it's sweet." He looked a her confused and removed his eye glasses perplexed.

"I already have my chai, but maybe we can share one next time?"

"Uh..." He uttered before glancing down at his eye glasses and cleaning them with the edge of his wool sweater.

"Why don't you have a seat?" He offered stretching his hand to the seat opposite of him. She beamed and sat across him. Elliot would have to reside to simpler methods. He removed his trademark black hoodie from his head, stood up and approached them. He stood before them for a good minute. His eyes boring into her face. It was the first time they met eye to eye face to face. He hadn't realized he hadn't spoken until the man spoke.

"Can we help you?" he asked in a concerned tone.

"Hi..." He began. "Could I borrow a cellphone to call my mom? Mine's dead." He lied awkwardly not removing his eyes from her face. Despite feeling uncomfortable under his intense gaze she remained poised offering him a polite smile. She was about to fish her cellphone from her brand designer purse when the man beat her to it and handed her his. He could feel his cellphone weighing in the back of his jean pocket.

Whatever.

He had to do whatever he could with this. He dialed his number and pretended to briefly speak with someone before deleting it.

"Thanks," he handed the suit his phone back and once again darted his eyes towards the woman before him.

Without another word he left.

Her eyes lingered on the hooded man as he walked out of the coffee shop. There was something about him that made her sit uneasily.


	3. The Vessel

**[3]**

He would be his vessel to her.

He sat in his dark room consumed by his loneliness.

He had successfully hacked Hobart Bax and was currently reading through his life.

He hadn't been wrong earlier.

Successful New York banker. He was as much as a blue blooded American as a Kennedy. Even the son of a distinguished New Hampshire senator.  
Bax was Mr. Perfect. As far as he could see, he was clean.

He had to dig deeper.

After all, everyone has a dark secret. He was very poorly guarded for such a high profile person, his e-mail password had been: CanCunSP01.  
Talk about nostalgia. Hacking into his browser data hadn't been a simple walk in the park. All it took was a petty click-bait ad.  
It was then that he found them all. A Grindr account. Kik. Tinder. And plenty of homosexual porn to jack it to.

 _Blackmail._

Bingo.

He didn't particularly enjoy it, but he decided to send Hobart Bax a _friendly_ message.

Well, that was one less thing to worry about.

His fingers rapidly danced across the keyboard as he accessed his contacts. He must have added her phone number by now. Jackass stole his move.  
Indeed he had, perhaps this had been even better than his original plan. It didn't take him long to find it.

She had a 702 area code phone number, a telephone number from Nevada. She was called Bo Linville. Bonnie Linville? Bonniebell?  
He began looking for her Facebook profile. Bingo! They almost made it too easy. He wanted to know the truth. He wanted to see if a terribly optimist creature such as Bo Linville, as her profile read, could actually shit rainbows and sunshine or if she was just as rotten and twisted in the inside just like everyone else. Her Facebook looked plain average and ordinary.

 _But everyone has their dirty little secrets…  
_  
Her profile pictures were changed annually. Most were of her with an exotic location in the background. The only available information was her e-mail. However, that should be enough.

He wrote down the address, ready to decode the password when-

He blinked twice surprised when his screen flashed completely black.  
A malware trap? Jumping into action his fingers typed as fast as they could so that he could stabilize his computer. It took him a couple of moments to control and stabilize the malware. He starred at the square dark box that he had cornered into an edge of the window. In bold green letters ran the code that came with the trap.

"NO."

The cornered screen suddenly blinked in bold white letters.

He looked for the author of the hacker, the coder that was defending this account. If it was her- she was good. She knew she would be hacked, she had set up the means to protect herself and her privacy.

"NO."

The screen blinked again.

The code had been written by: [The Immortal]

How dramatic.

He looked at the signature captivated. Now he was more than determined to access her files. This woman was good. He looped his way around the bug and finally managed to access her e-mail.

Her password was: LostEar1888

 _How odd…_ He leaned forward into the screen fascinated.

Elliot spent the entire night hacking and scanning all of the available files that this woman had. There was nothing. No dirt. It was impossible. Everybody had something. Whatever she was hiding was bad. What could it be that had to be hid so well? Child pedophilia? Contacts in the dark web? Perhaps, murderous affairs?

To his demise, he found nothing. She was clean.

xxx

Meanwhile in fancy loft in New York- Hobart Bax found himself pulling at his hairs. He fidgeted nervously, walking in circles around his living room. It wouldn't stop. It had been almost an hour and his home printer would not stop printing out cryptic messages. He resided to slapping the cancel button on his printer and aggressively hitting its side.

Compromising images of his accounts, his darkest secrets, his favorite pornos were being spit out by the vile machine. All with threatening captions.

"STAY AWAY FROM HER."  
"YOU _WILL NOT_ TALK TO HER."

"YOU _WILL_ LOSE CONTACT WITH HER."  
"TODAY. OR ELSE-" 

"Ahhh!" He let out a frustrated scream before unplugging the malicious machine. Composing himself he knew nightmare was over.

At least, that's what he thought. His hands trembled the moment his cellphone began beeping wildly.

 _'Oh no…'_


	4. Dance

**4\. Dancing**

She was everything that was wrong with society. The embodiment of consumption and capitalism. It was worse now that he was well aware that that woman was hiding something. That she was probably hacker just like him. The curious part of it was that she did not fit the shoe.

She worked at an art gallery. Working on her feet all day, discussing the most current artist and art style with walk in costumers. She would walk around New York with blind optimism. Her faith in humanity remained whole. Then again, what could one expect from a privileged woman living in Chelsea?

He was cautiously watching her at work. Just like some suits nearby were carefully watching his every move. He was beginning to regret not attending Angela's birthday party the other night. Ever since then, everything had kind of gone downhill. He usually did this kind of thing from his computer. However, this time he decided to do it AFK. In person. After all, he was trying to work on his social anxiety.

He was always good at reading people. His secret was that he looked for the worst in them.

Looking at her right now as she smiled at a viewing costumer. He saw her smile and the way she would cock her head and clap her hands. You could only find that numbed optimism in Hollywood films.

 _'It's not real…'_ he said to himself. _'It's not real.'_ He repeated.

The worst in her had to be absolute disgusting filth.

He stepped into the gallery in an attempt to avoid the higher ups that were stalking him. The gallery smelled like Egyptian cotton artificial scent. It was white, bright and spotless. Many large paintings decorated the walls. Elliot quite didn't understand the abstract post-modernism.

 _'Why would anybody buy this?'_ He asked himself while looking at the colorful splatter of paint that hung on the wall. The thought of someone wasting money on such a stupid mix of splatters and colors irked him. Fuck society and fuck whoever or whatever considered this painting to be a home necessity.

"Fascinating, right? Nicolazzo's use of color?"

He felt a chill run down his spine. He couldn't believe she had actually approached him. He looked at the painting and then at her.

 _'What a load of horseshit. Did she really believe that?'_

"I actually hate it. It's stupidly over-priced. The colors don't match. A talentless ape could have painted this." He drawled pressing her buttons waiting for her reaction. He could see the men in black behind her, lurking. A tight lipped smile graced her face slightly as her eyes bounced from the painting to his. Both of her feet pointed towards him, hands interlocked behind her back, head cocked to the side.

"That's the fascinating thing about art. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Would you like to see the Müller-Stein's? They are a little more pop art-"  
"No." He said flatly. In a rougher tone than he intended.

She blinked twice taken aback.

"Pardon me, have… have we met?" She asked. Her eyes squinting slightly.

He remained silent.

There it was again, that polite smile.

"Bo Linville," she introduced herself stepping forward, stretching out her hand. He took a slight step backwards. Almost like a dance. He didn't shake her hand. "You're not like our usual costumers," she noted as she eyed his casual wear. More specifically his black hoodie.

"I'm not like most people," Elliot stated darkly. She nodded attentively. Her eyes wondering to see if she could aid another viewer as an escape. "Neither are you." This caught her attention. "Excuse me?" She asked confused. An uneasy feeling beginning to consume her.

"Don't be frustrated. I don't know how to talk to people." He explained.

She felt as if she was participating in a practical joke. Who was this man and what the hell was he talking about?

"I wanted to talk to you- _tech to tech."_

She was absolutely puzzled. Her expression confirmed just how lost she was. That's when he realized that-

 _'-this woman has no idea that I hacked her last night. She doesn't know what spyware, malware mean-'._

Then what the hell was happening? He became confused. If she's not protecting her own information… Then who is? _  
_  
"Right… Well it was nice meeting you," she reached for his hand to briefly grasp it. He flinched pulling it back making her shocked expression more prominent. She raised her eyebrows awkwardly and walked away. Her heels clinking against the floor.

"Wait-" he said shaking his head. He followed her as she dealt with another customer. "I'm actually here to ask you to have dinner with me."

The customer giggled. Bo's cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. "Right." She chuckled nervously ignoring his question.  
"I won't leave until you accept." She flashed the customer she was currently attending a polite smile. With a pout she stepped away looking frustrated.

"Look,-" She clapped her hands nicely.  
"Elliot." He stated his name.  
"Elliot." She exhaled sounding exhausted.  
"I'm flattered really-"

 _'She's not…'_ His eyes bored into hers _. 'Liar.'_

"-but I'm in a complicated relationship and it really isn't the best time."

He wondered if she was referring to Hobart Bax or someone else.

"It's not a date or anything-"

It really wasn't.

he stepped forward persuading.  
She gave a step back, there it was again, that dance.

"No. I'm sorry." She smiled at him kindly.

Of course not, why would a woman like her ever agree to go out with him? She was the embodiment of a spring afternoon. Him on the other hand- he didn't know where to start if with the dark bags under his eyes or his conflicting mental health.

"If you excuse me, I'm busy working." She flashed him one last kind smile before walking away.


	5. Food

The woman sat on a table for two. There was one bottle of Merlot in the table, and one glass filled with the velvety elixir. She enjoyed the pleasant night as she sat in the patio of Bella Vita's. Bella Vita was an Italian restaurant. Bo had been expecting him to show, after all this was a nice place. You had to have a name and a reservation to even have the chance of having one foot through the door. The table was decorated with a small rose and a dim lit candle. _Molto romantico,_ as the Italians would say.

Her attention was briefly caught by an older man who was arguing with the poor hostess in the entrance. She debated whether she was better off leaving and giving the table to the elderly couple.

Bo: Where are you?  
Bo: Are you on your way?  
Bo: Hello?  
Bo: If you don't answer in five minutes I'm leaving.

It had been almost half an hour since the last text message. She had finished a basket of breadsticks stuffed with a mixture of Italian herbs and cream cheese. The wine had gone down smoothly as she numbed her emotions.

It was then that _he_ showed up.

She almost choked on her wine as it went down the wrong side. He stood next to her in the patio that faced New York's busy street.

"W-What are you doing here?" She coughed as she patted her chest.  
"What a coincidence," said the man who was _not_ Hobart Bax. Hiz tone made it seem as if it was _not_ a coincidence.  
Holding his weekend groceries he grinned at her and leant over the fence that divided them.

"May I sit?" He said with a charming grin.  
"No. You may not. Now leave me be and scatter along before I call the cops on you." She said sternly. Her lips drawn unto a serious, stretched thin line.  
Before her stood Nik Kuznet, _an old acquaintance._  
"You best leave me alone. If not I will get a restraining order against you," she threatened with a fearful expression.

He simply leant forward. A charming grin on his face. His grey eyes narrowed. Curly brown locks tasseled over his forehead.

"You wouldn't- you're _too nice_."

She looked around the patio uncomfortably before downing whatever wine was remaining in the glass in her hand.

"Sorry I'm late." A third voice suddenly said.

Both turned shocked to see a figure take the opposite seat.

"Finally you're here!" she announced before turning to face the man. 

It was _not_ Hobart Bax. Her eyes became wide. She poured herself whatever was remaining of the bottle of wine. After all, she would be paying for it.  
Her eyes finally met Elliot's large bug like ones. She wanted to cringe. Here she sat wearing a dress that had costs at least two zeroes. The earrings her grandmother had gifted her for her graduation from NYU and a Cartier watch. He wore the black hoodie she had always seen him wearing. She brought a hand to the bridge between her nose and anxiously rubbed it.

"Nik, this is-" She had forgotten his name. She snapped her finger in an attempt to guess his name. "-is… my date." She raised both of his eyebrows hoping that he would play along.  
"I am." He simply nodded.

Nik sucked the inside of his cheek and nodded his head, "Huh." He said in acknowledgment. "Well nice meeting you fella! Nik Kuznet." He stretched out his hand. Bo actually looked it at guessing if he man before her would shake it. "Elliot," he simply stated not breaking eye contact. The hand remained unshaken.

"Right." Bo said almost to eagerly. She took another long fat sip of her wine. "Well it was nice seeing you Nik. Buh-bye." She waved her hand childishly. Nik pursued his lips and nodded his head at both before excusing himself.

Bo let out a sigh she didn't realize she had been holding. She exhaled a deep breath and down the rest of the wine finishing the bottle by herself. She hadn't realized that Elliot had been observing her. Her frustration, her anxiety creeping on her. He was curious to see how she handled this, specially under the influence of alcohol.

"Thank you," she suddenly breathed. Both of her eyes remained half lidded. Her head was slipping to the side.

He remained focused. She was so intoxicated she hadn't even realized that his appearance hadn't been a coincidence. It had been a piece of cake for Elliot to hack into Hobart's phone. He read the text message that read:

Hobart: I can't see you ever again.

He had blocked her afterwards. He simply texted her he wanted to talk with her over dinner. Somehow, she had agreed. Then after, he hacked the restaurant and made a reservation for two. Sadly, he had to take some random man's name.

"You see- that was my ex." She said as she stuffed a piece of breath into her mouth in a very unladylike matter. "My ex-boyfriend. Nik. We broke up a month ago, but he keeps coming back, and back, and back, and back-" she went on, and on, and on, redundantly.

 _'Another woman that had poor taste in men.'_ Elliot thought to himself. The only difference between his friend, Angela, and Bo was that Angela's appeared to be easy to control. There was something about Nik that made him feel perturbed.

"Looks like an asshole," he offered in consolation. "He is." She bobbed her head agreeing. "Waiter-" she stuck her index finger up. "Another?" She waved he bottle up in the air in a matter that would make her grandmother spin in her grave. "Want anything?" She offered suddenly facing him.

This had not gone down as he had expected. He was regretting arranging this in the first place. What was it with him making this string of bad decisions that seemed to trial after him?

"Umm- no… You should go home." He attempted.

"What are you talking about Elliot? We are just getting started!" She grinned. As the waiter bowed before them both placing a brand new bottle in their table.


End file.
